


Patches Goes on an Adventure

by Cyntax_Error



Category: Dark Souls (Video Games), Dark Souls I
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Death, Friendship, Gen, Graphic Description, Magic, Violence, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 13:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29065164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cyntax_Error/pseuds/Cyntax_Error
Summary: After overhearing a follower of Big Hat Logan’s speak about the untold mysteries and treasure kept hidden away within the Duke’s Archives, Patches offers to accompany the young sorcerer into the Archives, all with the ill-intent of slaying them and taking it for himself. Things take a turn for the worse, when nothing goes as planned...
Kudos: 4





	1. Ailbe the Aphasic

“Are you so certain of this, young one?”

“Most certainly!” The undead being in robes clapped their gauntleted hands together. “The polished marble floor, intricate panels along the walls, the solid gold decor-“

_Solid gold decor._

It was almost as if someone spoke the activation phrase nestled deep inside his brain. Patches peaked his head over the half broken wall before him, to spy a hooded figure in magical looking robes, and shiny steel greaves and gauntlets, speaking to a man who sat comfortably in the grass. He wore an impossibly large brimmed hat.

“-I didn’t venture deep, but I’m absolutely sure it lives up to the archives belonging to an esteemed Duke.”

If the bells weren’t already ringing in his ears, this definitely set them off.

The man in the large hat, one known as Master Logan, hummed. “I suppose it be worth a look. If anything, it will only be another step closer.”

“But Master,” Patches heard the young mage call his name with insistency. “in my search, I found those horrid crystal growths you warned me about, and a poor man who succumbed to their singing. He attacked me on sight, and I… well, I had him fell’d.”

“Then that is certainly the place I’m looking for.” Master Logan nodded from his cross-legged position on the ground. “Well done.”

The mage seemed to titter by how their shoulders moved. “The journey there was made much easier, coincidentally following the steps of the Chosen Undead. He made slaying all the crazed beings less of a hassle.”

“Well, my dear, I say you deserve a rest either way. Go soak up warmth by the fire.” Master Logan gestured lazily towards the sword plunged in flame.

Patches watched as the mage bowed their head eagerly. “Thank you, Master.”

They passed by Patches, unbeknownst to them that the snake of a man peered his nose over the wall. Once he was sure Logan fell into one of his “contemplative states”, or most commonly called napping, Patches followed the mage quietly to the collapsed wall they sat upon near the fire.

They stared off dreamily into the dancing flames. Patches cleared his throat loudly, pulling them from their reverie.

“Hello there!” Patches greeted with a wave and his artificially nice tone. “I’ve seen you around this fire a few times, and I couldn’t help but hear you know the Chosen Undead. You’re a friend of his too, eh?”

“Oh!” The plated mage sounded a tad surprised. “Why yes, yes I am friends with him. And you are…?”

“Dearie me!” Patches chuckled and slapped a palm to his forehead, making light of his forgetful ways. “Now where are my manners? My name is Patches,” he extended a hand out for the plated mage, and slightly bowed at the waist. “Trusty Patches.”

The mage shook his hand, then retracted their hand to pull back the oversized hood. Their helmet remained on their shoulders. “My name is Ailbe. Ailbe the Aphasic.”

“Aphasic?” Patches tilted his head. “You seem to be understanding me well.”

Ailbe chuckled, with only a trace of nervousness. “Well… that’s a long story. I can understand verbally now, but alas, I cannot read or write.” They cleared their throat. “Was there anything I could assist you with, Patches?”

“I overheard you talking about the duke’s archives. That place is nothing but trouble - nothing but danger! I’ve been there before, you know. I’m… acquainted with the goings on in that place. Do you plan on going there again?”

“Yes, in due time.” Ailbe directed their gaze to the fire. They were an odd one; a smaller being, a borderline feminine voice, yet nothing gender descript about them. “Oh!” They looked back to the man standing mere feet away. “You mention you’ve been there before. I’m… I’m sort of fetching things for Master Logan, as a way of thanking him for teaching me sorceries. Is there any way I could request your aid? Those crystals they- they frighten me.”

Patches rubbed his chin and hummed rather dramatically. “Well, it is a treacherous journey there…”

“Is that your armour?” Ailbe pointed to Patches’ leather gear. “I know where I can get you better armour - armour that will fit you. I’ll also pay you; coins, souls, knowledge, whatever you wish. I would greatly appreciate your company, as well as someone who can read. I’m sure it will come in handy in a place like the archives.”

A smile stretched across Patches’ face. “You drive a hard bargain, mage. Alright. You’ve got a deal.” Patches stretched out a hand, to which Ailbe graciously shook, sealing their deal. “Best we shove off sooner than later. I’ve still got a merchant gig to attend to.”

“Oh- Oh you’re absolutely right!” Ailbe shot up from the ruined wall they sat upon. “Alright, okay, I’ll- I’ll grab your armour first, then gather our supplies. Will you still be here when I return?”

“Have no fear. We shook on it, so I’ll wait around for you.”

“Wonderful! I will return soon… er, Patches, was it? Farewell, for now.” Ailbe offered Patches a strange gesture he had not seen before. Hesitant to return it, he simply offered a wave, and saw the mage off towards the aquaduct.

Patches waited patiently for the mage to be out of sight, before releasing the dark laughter he had bubbling up inside him. A mage, young and too naïve for the world, as well as illiterate, willingly leading him to untold treasures? Oh how fate served him opportunities on a silver platter.


	2. The Dragon’s Curse

“It’s not too heavy, is it?” Ailbe called from the other side of the wall. Directly to their right, the strange primordial serpent snored loudly. The pool of drool from Frampt’s open mouth grew exponentially, and nearly swallowed Ailbe’s boot.

Patches turned from around the corner to show off the armour. He looked over his shoulders and down his legs, inspecting the way the scorched silver plate fit his appendages nicely. “Feels like a second skin, but have you any idea what this is? Where the hell did you get this armour?”

“Oh, I… well, this is a bit embarrassing,” Ailbe rubbed the small bit of skin that revealed itself between their cloak and helmet, at the back of their neck. “but I took it from the body of a knight I killed. He attacked without reservation, so I believe he may have hollowed.”

“You-“ Patches’ face turned to one that was a mixture of horror and awe. “-killed a black knight?”

“A… black knight? The armour is black, so I suppose that makes sense. But I am so glad the armour fits! I’m sorry, I didn’t find a helmet to go with it.”

Patches forced a smile to surface onto his face after moments of staring at Ailbe, gobsmacked at the fact they killed a black knight - presumably by themself. This mage was proving to have layers beneath being young and ignorant. That power would serve useful for clearing out hostile undead, however, it made the idea of treachery a little more complicated.

“That’s… alright- ahem! You have our gear?” Patches asked as he disappeared behind the wall to collect his shield and winged spear.

“Scrolls, staff - yes, I believe that’s everything.” Ailbe listed the items off their fingers.

“Say,” Patches began as he hoisted his shield over his back, then turned the wall corner to face down the mage. “you can’t read, yeah? What’s with the scrolls?”

“Master Logan told me what each scroll reads for what spell, and labelled them certain colours accordingly.” Ailbe tied the extra sack to a thigh strap on their armour, and pocketed the scrolls in their belt. They held their staff - contrived and twisted around a channeling gem at the top of their makore wood staff. All of which look absolutely priceless in Patches’ eyes - but not priceless enough to not sell.

Deciding to take the shortest path possible, all in thanks to the Chosen Undead, they headed toward the dilapidated elevator that would bring them up into the church. As they travelled, the two conversed idly about the day, themselves (as much as Patches was willing to divulge), and the payment he would be receiving.

Upon arriving to the grand steps of the archives, Ailbe pulled out their staff to arm themselves, as well as a short sword in their off hand.

“It’s strange,” Ailbe spoke quietly, staring up at the intricate stonework of the arched entrance. “but the very first time I came here, it seemed as though a… barrier of sunlight forbade my trespassing.” They looked towards Patches, who kept his eyes fixed upwards. “How was it you managed to slip through the barrier?”

“How-“ Patches absentmindedly repeated, before cluing into Ailbe’s inquiry. “Oh! I eh, went another way, actually. Through a window, out the other side.”

Ailbe tilted their head. Their raised eyebrow was kept hidden beneath the helmet and hood of their cloak. “The archives border a cliff.”

“No, no. There’s a… yeah, there’s a courtyard with a low wall. Easy enough to scale, but the entrance would be a breeze. Which,” Patches gestured, stretching an arm out to guide the way inward. “shall we go through?”

Ailbe looked up at Patches and nodded. He wasn’t much of a sight before, but since donning the blackened knight armour, his intimidation factor increased incredibly.

“Would you mind leading us in? It’s… the crystals, you see, they-“

But Patches held up a hand to silence Ailbe. “Say no more. Just keep that staff of yours ready, eh?”

Ailbe nodded with conviction, and followed Patches into the archives. To this surprise, the little mage wasn’t kidding. The floor was a pristine marble, littered with well crafted bookcases, drawing desks, tea chairs and solid gold armillary spheres. Trinkets, silver quills and refined ink lined the drawing desks of the entry room that was located past the long hallway.

Ailbe pulled down their hood upon entry into the tall room. “Perhaps Dawde was here.” They pointed at the corpses crumpled onto the floor, scorched with deep, horrible black burns. “He’s the only one I know to use such dark sorceries.”

“Dawde?”

Ailbe turned to Patches with a questioning look. “Dawde. The Chosen Undead. I thought you said you were friends with him.”

“Ah!” Patches rubbed the back of his exposed head. “De! I er, I haven’t used his full name in some time. Sorry about that, love. Shall we press on?”

Ailbe politely bowed their head, and allowed Patches to stalk on first.

He eyed up the small trinkets that lined the room. Nothing of true worth, but he knew they had barely entered the archives. No, for this was merely a customary entry hall.

“How far did you get, again?” Patches asked as they stepped onto the wooden elevator and pulled the lever. It was unfortunate this elevator was encapsulated by walls of stone. The fall would prove deadly.

“To the top.” Ailbe said, pointing a finger upwards. “There are other floors, but all other ways were locked tight. If Dawde truly is here, perhaps he found a way to open all those doors.” They pondered, more to themselves than answering Patches.

Lo, at the top of the elevator, corpses steaming with black gashes littered the floor. Ailbe smiled brightly, not that Patches could see it.

“Oh! Look,” they gestured to the bodies and proclaimed excitedly, “Dawde is here! The magic residue looks relatively fresh!”

Patches stared at them with a raised brow. “Yeah… Erm, how old are you again?”

“Old enough to know better.” They answered plainly, before prancing up the short set of stairs to peer into the first room of the incredibly grand archives. “Hm… All the doors are still shut, but everything else is dead.” They noted. “Peculiar. He could be at the top.” Upon seeing all the beings dead, Ailbe sheathed their sword but kept their staff out.

A stand-off with the Chosen Undead was not on Patches’ to-do list, nor was it ever going to be. He shouldered his spear and shield, and untucked the sack he had hidden away in the hollow of his chest plate. “Right. While you mutter on to yourself, I’m going to collect books.”

“You’re pilfering the archives?”

Patches tucked the woven sack right back into his chest plate. Damn it. He threw on a smile and responded in a higher pitched tone, “No, no! Collect was a bad word - I’m only going to skim! Bit of a scholar myself, you know.” He gave a small laugh before waltzing up to the nearest bookshelf. Once his back was turned, that smile fell to a grimace.

Need to keep this brat around a bit longer, Patches thought to himself as he eyed the words on the spines of the many tomes in the archives. Glistening metallic bookends would catch his eye, as well as iridium blue, magical trinkets, If that Chosen bastard really is here, little mage can vouch for me. He might even have a key on him to the rest of the archives. Not to mention both him and the brat are loaded with valuables.

The thought of Ailbe’s staff and scrolls, as well as robes and shiny armour tickled Patches with delight.

Dawde, Patches snickered quietly. What a stupid name.

Just as Patches was about to pull the first valuable spell book off the incredibly tall bookshelf, the mage he was beginning to loathe called out his name. Patches sighed.

“Up here!” Ailbe waved from over the handrail. Patches climbed the stairs to meet Ailbe, all the while noticing this elevator was even taller, and without any walls to catch an unsuspecting mage from tumbling over.

“Right you are, love.” He put on a chipper tone as they stepped onto the elevator. “All the way to the top.”

As the elevator made its way up, Patches began, “Y’know Alebee-“

“Ailbe.”

“-sure. You’re beginning to grow on me.” Patches casually placed a heavy hand on their shoulder and gave them a friendly shake; testing out their balance. It only took a brutish shove to cause Ailbe to stumble somewhat. “Y’don’t see too many young ones wandering around here… You are young buck, right?”

Ailbe placed a finger to the edge of their helmet and hummed. “...I suppose to someone like Master Logan, I would be considered young. I am an adult, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“It’s not, but all the more better to know. You and I - I can see us being chummy.” He gave Ailbe another playful shake, this time throwing them off balance enough for their heel to collide into the railing of the ascending elevator. “Oops! Hehe, sorry about that, friend.”

“That’s alright.” Ailbe said.

Good, good. The mage would make pushing them over no issue at all, especially now they were buying into the façade of a budding friendship. But the mage still had a use, Patches knew. For now.

Patches stepped off first, guiding the mage past the dead, crystallized body laying face down. He made note to return and steal the sorry sod’s armour.

“Just through here you wanted to go, yeah?” He pointed towards the crystalline hall. Ailbe nodded meekly.

He didn’t understand what they were so scared of. Sure they made a weird tingling noise, but that was really all there was. The protruding point was sharp, too, he supposed. As they climbed the stairs, Ailbe nearly clinging to Patches’ body, he could see a slow rolling fog seeping out of an archway.

He took a step in, then-

-

The cold light appeared as blurry orbs in his vision. His entire body ached, as if all his muscles had attrified. He let out a strangled groan as he attempted to move his leg, and orient himself along the cold, flat surface he laid upon. His vision slowly clarified, to reveal that the roof above his head was made of wood, and just out of the corner of his vision were tall iron bars.

His recollection was hazy, at best. He remembered an elevator, luminous crystals, and a white figure. Something was approaching him, a blinding light, until-

Ailbe.

Patches struggled to manoeuvre his shoulder around to get an elbow beneath his torso. He let out a quiet, pained moan before propping himself up slightly - but then he stopped himself, still as a statue. A being with the body of a man but the head of an enormous cobra, leaned against the bars of what now looked to be a mostly wooden cell. It’s back was against the bars, and it made a low, rhythmic hiss. It almost seemed to be snoring.

Slowly, as not to disturb the joints of his armour, Patches leaned against his elbow just enough to flip himself over onto his stomach. It was then he saw, slumped in the corner of the cell much like a doll, was Ailbe, covered almost entirely in crystals.

A wash of terror, then relief, passed over Patches. That saved him the trouble of killing the rather powerful mage later, and left him the duty of stripping their corpse. Patches gave his legs an experimental stretch. They ached, but were able to move them enough to crawl slowly towards Ailbe’s corpse. He pulled the cloth sack from their thigh holster and began to fill it with the scrolls and enchanted little accessories they had hidden away in an interior pouch of their armour.

He jerked away when he heard the body moan.

The poor bastard isn’t dead after all.

Patches reached around for the dagger he kept strapped across his lower back, but ultimately stopped when he realized the likelihood of leaving the archives alone and alive were slim, by the fact his body ached like never before, and his spear and shield were absent.

He abandoned the idea of stabbing Ailbe to death and set to work removing their hood and unclasping their helmet and removing the balaclava. Out tumbled pale hair, and the right side of their face had a light dusting of the same crystals that encased the rest of their armour.

“Oi.” Patches whispered to them and rubbed the crystals off their skin with his thumb. “Can you hear me?”

He could see movement from beneath their closed eyes. Gently he pulled at one of their eyelids, to reveal a foggy cornea had appeared over their pupil, and their eye rapidly moving all around.

The crystals. His memory came to, and he recalled how they climbed the curved stairway polluted with crystals, then came to an astronomy room containing a gargantuan white creature. There was a flash of light, but Ailbe pushed past him, lifting their staff to block him from a direct hit. He could hear a very faint hum emanating from the crystals. They were driving Ailbe mad.

Quickly Patches set to work, stripping Ailbe of as much armour as modestly possible, and brushing off what crystals he could.

“Come on, love. You need to wake up!” He urged quietly in their ear. The last thing he wanted was to be stuck in a cell with a crazy mage and all their spells.

He gripped Ailbe’s shoulders, and began to shake them. “C’mon, c’mon, c’mon-“ He shook them, getting progressively violent. “-just wake. The fuck. Up!”

Ailbe’s neck snapped back from the final harsh shake, bashing the back of their bare head against the wooden wall of the cell. He gasped in quiet shock and released the grip on their shoulders, and turned his gaze to the snake man against the bars. Thankfully, the bang of Ailbe’s head against the wall didn’t pull it from sleep.

“Patches…?”

Patches turned back to look as Ailbe groggily stirred. An unarmed hand slowly lifted to rub the back of their head.

He couldn’t help the shaky grin that rose to his lips. “D’you know you got a reset button back there?”

“I… what?”

“Eh… nevermind. You need to stand.”

But Ailbe gave a lazy shake of their head. “No, I- I’m really tired.”

Patches grabbed their chin and jerked their head upwards to stare into their eyes. One of their pupils remained stagnant, while the other dilated rapidly. At least the foggy corneas were gone. “Might’ve given you a concussion, or… something.”

Patches laid Ailbe back gently into the corner of the cell, then shakily stood, using the walls as support. “Don’t make a sound.” He whispered to Ailbe, who nodded and lulled their head to the side.

Steadily regaining balance, Patches snuck close behind the snake man who leaned against the bars. On its belt, he noticed an iron key. Pulling out his dagger, he stepped closer ever yet, readying an arm. He thrusted an arm between the bars, strangling the now wide awake and struggling snake man, keeping it still enough to ram the length of his dagger through to where (he guessed) it’s kidneys were, until it fell limp.

Patches allowed its body to crumple to the ground, but not before plucking the key off its body.


End file.
